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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446060">promises kept, promises made</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughtales/pseuds/laughtales'>laughtales</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, The Great Fodlan Bakeoff, soft and sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:48:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446060</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughtales/pseuds/laughtales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix and Sylvain have a moment together on their way back to Garrag Mach.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>promises kept, promises made</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Speed written in three hours for the second Great Fodlan Bakeoff. The themes this time were REUNION, TRUST, COURAGE, FLOWERS, SUNRISE/SUNSET.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes no more than three well-placed steps to dodge the larger bandit’s ax and slide his sword between the plates of armor. Felix kicks the body away and frees his blade just in time to swivel and catch a lance with the flat of it.</p><p>He’s outnumbered. There’s no skill to be found in the way they handle their weapons -broken, rusted things plucked from bloody fields, but if there’s anything in abundance of in the Kingdom right now, it’s bandits and vermin and death.</p><p>Another one comes up behind him along with the hoard ten paces behind. And the pesky archer he’s been keeping in his periphery since this whole fight began when his horse was felled. The last thing he needs is to lose track of him, the mistake too costly to afford.</p><p>Felix throws the lancer off and turns, prepared to parry the sword swung crudely through the air when his eye catches the glint of a notched arrowhead from the side.</p><p>A whistle rings through the air and before he has the chance to think it through, his body moves, ducking low and swinging at the bandit’s legs with a grin. Overhead, a javelin cuts through the air and hits its mark in the archer’s chest.</p><p>“You’re late,” Felix says, almost fond, just as Sylvain comes riding into sight. Another bandit goes down in a splatter of blood.</p><p>“I’m actually pretty sure I’m early,” Sylvain quips, clearing out a clamoring group to the left with a wide swing of his lance. “I thought we were meeting up tomorrow.”</p><p>Felix grunts, cutting down an enemy in the process. They make quick work of the remaining bandits and before long, the ground is littered with blood and bodies.</p><p>“They got my horse.” Felix wipes the blood off his blade before sheathing it. He walks over to his dying mare and scrunches his face as he slides a dagger quickly and painlessly into her throat.</p><p>Sylvain comes up beside him and Felix can see him offer a silent prayer for her, eyes closed and a hand across his heart. Gautiers have been horse people for generations and Sylvain is no different.</p><p>“I guess you’re stuck riding with me until we get to the monastery then,” Sylvain chuckles.</p><p>Felix clicks his tongue but gathers his supplies with no complaint and secures them to Sylvain’s horse.</p><p>“Well, are we going?”</p><p>“Yeah, let’s go.”</p><p>.</p><p>The safehouse, if it can be called that, is an abandoned cabin at the southern-most tip of Galatea. They’d been there as children a few times, before the mystique of creaky floorboards and charm of nights spent piled on the single bed faded with age and war.</p><p>“You know, I swear this place was less grungy when were kids,” Sylvain says, running a hand through the thick layer of dirt and dust and poking around the bushes.</p><p>Felix scoffs and doesn’t dignify the obvious with a response.</p><p>They don’t bother with cleaning up the place, it’s only for the night until Ingrid arrives as well so they can head to the monastery together.</p><p>“I’m surprised you came,” Felix says after a time. It’s not an accusation; it’s an observation.</p><p>The war hit them all hard but Gautier has it worse. Sreng had caught the scent of blood and conflict and began pushing its boundaries at the border. Between fighting a two-front war and the Margrave, this is the first time Felix has seen Sylvain in three years.</p><p>“You wound me, Fe,” Sylvain says woefully, exaggerated. “I had to sneak away. My father would never have let me come.”</p><p>“Why," Felix asks, "did you come? I mean." He doesn't need an answer for the other <em>why</em>. </p><p>“What do you mean why? The reunion. The promise. When have you known me to break a promise with you?”</p><p><em>You didn’t just make that promise to me,</em> Felix thinks. It doesn't mean anything; there's no difference. Sylvain doesn’t break his promises. Because he doesn’t make them halfheartedly. He’ll say pretty words and string women along but he never has, and never will, promise them anything but good sex and heartbreak.</p><p>Certainly not the way Sylvain promised him his life when Felix was eight and too young and naive to understand the weight of it.</p><p>“What about you?” Sylvain asks. “Why are you here?”</p><p>
  <em>Because I knew you would be.</em>
</p><p>“It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>Sylvain stares at him for a stifling moment. “Yeah, I guess it doesn’t," he says, looking away. "But for the record, I’m glad you are.”</p><p>The setting sun has been painting shades of peach and blush across the sky and are doing the same to the canvas of his face.</p><p>“Hey Felix, come here.” It’s sudden and unprompted and Felix holds his ground six feet away. “Or don’t come here,” Sylvain sighs. “Close your eyes instead?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Do you trust me?”</p><p>“Don’t ask stupid questions you know the answer to.”</p><p>Sylvain smiles, soft and warm, as the sun basks them in familial shades of Sylvain’s hair. “Trust me.”</p><p>Felix sighs and lets his eyes slide closed. He tracks Sylvain’s movements through the snap of twigs and crunch of leaves until he’s not three feet away and coming closer still.</p><p>Sylvain’s fingers brush against his cheek, before tucking something behind his ear. A stray strand of hair. He’s about to question it when Sylvain’s breath ghosts warm against his cheek and the briefest, gentle touch of Sylvain’s lips brush against it.</p><p>“We’ll make it, I promise. Together or not at all.” It’s whispered, quiet and intimate, right in his ear before Sylvain pulls again and Felix opens his eyes to honey and blush and red. </p><p>Felix touches his ear and finds a flower tucked there, the stem cold against the warmth that rises from within. His hand falls, empty, and nods, feeling the flower shift as he stares at Sylvain’s feet.</p><p>“We’ll make it,” he echoes, and he doesn’t need to look up to see the smile that graces Sylvain’s face.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Come say hi on <a href="https://twitter.com/laughtales_"> Twitter</a> &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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